Head Trauma
by Blah34
Summary: Bilbo wakes up with a headache and no recollection of what happened, but soon finds out that it's more serious than he thinks...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys!**

 **This is my first fanfic, and it's probably really bad, but I thought this was a good idea, so...**

 **This is a work in progress, and I probably won't be updating too regularly, so bear with me.**

 **This work is unedited (but I'm pretty good at English) so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.**

 **DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I am not a genius English Oxford professor named Tolkien, so the Hobbit is not mine.**

* * *

When Bilbo awoke, everything was unfamiliar, except for the bearded face of Balin staring down at him. "Hello there, lad." He said softly. "That was a nasty knock you got there," he smiled at Bilbo warmly.

"What...happened?" Bilbo asked in a whisper. His head hurt and he felt a sharp pain in his side.

"How much do you remember, lad?" Balin asked him, using a damp cloth to mop up the bright red blood flowing steadily from the side of Bilbo's head.

The sight of his own blood scared the hobbit; he had thought he wasn't much hurt, but now he was afraid he may have hurt himself beyond repair.

Balin dabbed at his forehead again with the rag. "It's alright, lad. You're going to be right as rain in a week or two." He patted Bilbo's shoulder softly. "Do you remember anything?"

Thinking hard, Bilbo gave a difficult recount of their adventures. "Well...I remember all of you dwarves showing up at my house...and...you had a quest to...to...get back your treasure from a...a dragon."

"Good," Balin said. "Go on,"

"And...we got to a cave, and...the floor fell out...and we got caught by goblins. And...I wasn't there, because I had gotten lost...and Gollum told some riddles...and...and I f-found a ring. And then…" he sighed. "It's all so muddled...I can't remember...we were in a forest, with spiders...and...and…" he squinched his eyes shut tight as he tried to remember. The pain in his head was pounding now, washing over him like waves over the sand. At last he sighed, "I can't remember, Balin. I'm sorry."

Balin smiled, but he seemed worried. "It's alright, Bilbo. You get some sleep, now. Perhaps you'll remember more when you've rested awhile." He stood up and walked away with an anxious expression on his face.

As he left, the world sharpened for Bilbo. It was no longer a blur of colours, but defined shapes, steadily growing sharper.

He saw that he was sitting, propped up against a tree. A few feet away, the rest of the dwarves sat in a ring around a small fire, they were speaking softly in worried tones, and snuck glances at the hobbit when they thought he couldn't see.

 _I wonder how badly I've been hurt_. Bilbo wondered, but his head throbbed and he didn't want to think about it too much.

His body had gone numb. All that he could feel was the awful pain in his head. He felt as if there was no ground, nothing solid beneath him. The world was going fuzzy again, just large blobs of colour. He thought he could hear an eagle calling somewhere far away, but his mind was so muddled that he found that the easiest thing was to just close his eyes and block out the world.

When he opened his eyes again, his head felt worse, he couldn't feel his legs, and all the dwarves were crowded around him, looking down at him nervously.

His vision was blurred, but he could tell that he was lying down now, and there was an awful lot of red around him, underneath him even over him. He wondered if he had a red blanket over him, but when he touched it, it was warm, wet and sticky.

"He's waking up," said a voice (Bilbo thought it was Dori's.)

A dark-haired dwarf appeared in Bilbo's field of vision, but the figure was so fuzzy that Bilbo couldn't identify him until he spoke. "Master Baggins," Thorin said, worry tinging his voice. "How do you feel?"

Bilbo tried to speak in proper sentences, but all that came out was fractured words, enough for the dwarves to understand. "Head...hurts….can't feel...legs and arms…...am...am I….am I...dying?"

Another damp cloth was applied to the hobbit's head, in a desperate attempt to wipe away the blood.

Thorin looked at the grim faces of the other dwarves before answering the hobbit's question. "You've lost a lot of blood today, Bilbo." He said, his voice wavering slightly.

This answer was not satisfactory for Bilbo, and he asked again, "Am...I...dying?" His voice was hoarse, but the fear of death made him feel stronger, as if his weak heart was pumping defiantly, fighting his fate.

Thorin sighed, and, as if the sentence pained him to utter, said, "I think maybe, yes."

Bilbo closed his eyes, and nodded slowly. He felt dizzy, and lightheaded, and almost wished he could die right now. Instead, he decided to ask what exactly had happened.

"It was the dragon," Fili said. "He threw you."

Thorin nodded sadly. "When you went into the mountain the second time, the dragon woke. He caught you, Bilbo, and he tossed you against the wall. That's how you got the injury."

Bilbo suddenly let out a frenzy of coughing, the coughs came from nowhere, and they were breathy and wheezy. As he coughed, a new, sharp pang of pain accompanied by the metallic taste of blood filled his throat. He could hear the dwarves' worried questions, and felt someone's hands grasping his shoulders, but his vision had suddenly gone so fuzzy that he couldn't see anything, and he slipped off into unconsciousness, afraid of dying.

When he awoke next, the pain was gone altogether. He found it odd, because it couldn't have been too much time since he last woke up and felt so awful. Once he had realized this, he noticed the sounds that filled the air.

It was crying, the sounds of twelve sobbing dwarves, and a slow realisation of terror flushed upon him.

 _I'm..._ he couldn't get the word out, but luckily he didn't have to, because at that moment, Ori, dear sweet little Ori whispered to his older brother:

"I can't believe he's dead,"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again!**

 **I'm back! Thanks to everyone who's read this!**

 **I DEFINITELY won't be updating this regularly in future, I just had nothing else to do at 6:00 this morning.**

 **I don't now why I keep writing this, it's actually pretty dark. I should have warned people beforehand about the MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH found in the previous chapter, but I didn't. Sorry 'bout that, everyone.**

 **It gets kind of depressing here, but I've labelled it 'humor' so don't worry, it'll lighten up, I promise!**

 **Alas, I am still without an editor, so I am responsible for all mistakes.**

 **DISCLAIMER: In my dreams, I've written the Hobbit, but in reality, NOPE! The Hobbit belongs to the amazing J.R.R. Tolkien and to him alone!**

* * *

Bilbo Baggins attended his own funeral.

It was a small affair, with a small, makeshift casket Bifur and Bofur had made from loose branches and twigs. Bofur and Kili had both volunteered to say a few words, but Kili had broke down in tears in the middle of his speech and couldn't go on.

Bofur stood up, his eyes shiny and moist, and began his eulogy in a quivering voice. "Bilbo was my friend." he said simply, and nodded once or twice. "Yeah. And I like to think that I was his friend too. Bilbo was a small person, even smaller than us dwarves, but he had the heart of an oliphaunt, and I'll always love him for it." he smiled dryly and continued, despair tugging at the edges of his voice. "I didn't know Bilbo for very long, but I can say that it wasn't long enough. There are about a million things that I wish I had said, or things I wish I had done, and now I can't ever say them. I wish I could tell him how deeply I cared about him, and I wish I could apologize for the way we treated him at the beginning, and-" he paused to choke back a small sob. "I wish I could tell him how much he changed us all." He took a shuddering breath, determined to finish his speech for Bilbo. He had failed him before; he had doubted him, and he wasn't about to fail him again. "Bilbo Baggins began this journey with us as a simple burglar. He was just another hobbit from the Shire. But now," Bofur's eyes wandered to the slapdash casket sitting beside him. It was so small; Bofur hadn't really realized exactly how small Bilbo was until he had to make his coffin. Directing the remainder of his speech to Bilbo's coffin, he finished with, "Bilbo, you are our family." He could hardly stutter out the words before he fell to his knees and wept bitterly, his body shuddering from sobbing tremors.

Bilbo looked on in moved shock. _It's okay, Bofur,_ he wanted to say. _Don't cry._ But he knew that Bofur couldn't hear him, nor could he see him. As a matter of fact, none of the company seemed to be able to see the hobbit or hear him, and if Bilbo tried to touch them, his ghostly hand passed right through their bodies as if they weren't there.

It was very weird, being dead, and Bilbo didn't much like it. It wasn't very different from being alive, except that all of the laws of science he had learned as a fauntling didn't apply to him anymore. He could walk through solid objects and slide through water without making waves or ripples. He found out the hard way that fire was not immune to his touch and he could somehow be burned, and now sported a red mark on his hand as proof.

Being a ghost wasn't like he had expected it to be. He couldn't float in thin air, and he wasn't a silvery-white, in fact, he looked pretty much exactly like he had when he was alive, but all of his cuts and bruises were healed. He couldn't touch plants, animals or people, but he could pick things up if he tried very hard, and could touch solid objects with great focus. He also couldn't see his reflection in a mirror or in a pool, and, worst of all, he couldn't eat or drink anything, and if he tried, the food or drink would just pass through him as if he didn't exist.

As much as possible, Bilbo tried to be optimistic about it. At least he was still around the dwarves, and at least he could still play jokes on them. It was actually much easier to prank the company, now that he didn't make any noise. Just the other day, Bilbo had made Balin scream like a fauntling facing a bear.

He had waited for Balin to go out on watch duty, and then began throwing things around and making a rather large mess of twigs, rocks and leaves. Balin yelled in shock and ran off to tell the company that the mountain was haunted.

Bilbo also enjoyed poking the dwarves with a stick and watching them look frantically around to try and locate whoever it was who had touched him.

But his amusement g was short-lived. He longed to chat with Bombur about food, or practice his swordsmanship with Fili and Kili. He wished he could share a smile with Bofur, a pat on the back from Balin and Dwalin, even a grunt or two from Bifur. He wanted to be alive again, but he knew that there was nothing he could do to accomplish that.

Thorin had been crying again, Dwalin could tell. Ever since Bilbo's passing, Thorin had grown more and more withdrawn and sad, and cried much more often. Dwalin understood why; though Thorin and the hobbit hadn't been the closest of friends, it was almost impossible not to like Bilbo Baggins.

Dwalin himself had been deeply affected by their burglar's death, but he had learned long ago not to wear his heart on his sleeves. In fact, so had Thorin, which only showed how deep his sadness went.

After their quiet dinner, the company mingled around the fire and moped, but Thorin had slunk away into the small crevice they had buried Bilbo by. He had looked so depressed and dejected during dinner that Dwalin followed him and stood in silence as they both stared at Bilbo's small grave.

Ori had made a little headstone out of a wooden board they had found and the dwarves together had burned these words into its smooth surface:

 _BILBO BAGGINS_

 _The burglar who stole the hearts of 13 dwarves._

The two dwarves stood together in silence, gazing in dismay at the grave marker amongst the craggy sides of the mountain. _Bilbo deserved better_ , Dwalin thought, shaking his head. _He deserves his own golden casket and a huge tomb filled with riches._

Thorin, it seems, had similar thoughts. "When we retake Erebor," he mumbled, not looking away from Bilbo's grave. "I will make him a grave as no one has ever seen before. We will dedicate memorials to him, build him a statue, do anything so he will be remembered." His voice was rough and deep, and much quieter than usual.

Dwalin's heart twinged in his chest. "Thorin," he said, putting a reassuring arm around the dejected king. "Bilbo will _always_ be remembered by us. It's almost as if..." he searched for the words that he knew Thorin needed to hear just as much as he needed to say. "It's almost as if he's still here with us."

Thorin scowled. "Bilbo is..." he paused, and his voice broke as he spoke his next word. " _Dead._ " He swallowed and nodded his head twice. "...Bilbo is dead. He's not here with us. He will never again be here among us."

Dwalin watched in awe as a single, gleaming tear slipped from the king's closed eyes and slid down his smooth cheek, splashing on the rocks below.

Thorin sank to his knees in front of Bilbo's grave, weeping. The cool, mountain air whistled through the trees and blew the king's dark hair into his face, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. He buried his face in his dirty hands and cried for their burglar. "I'm sorry, Bilbo," he muttered, wails tugging at his voice. "I'm so, sorry."

Meanwhile, Balin was still confused. Earlier that day, while he had been guarding, twigs and rocks had started to move on their own accord, and leaves blew in some unseen or felt breeze. The rest of the company had shook off his claims telling him that he must have dozed off and started dreaming, but Balin knew otherwise. He had seen something spectacular, but what was the cause?

A ghost. He immediately thought. A restless spirit trying to torment us.

Balin knew this probably wasn't the case, though it being the only logical explanation, tried to flesh out his theory.

If it is a ghost, he thought to himself. Whose ghost would it be? For of course only someone with deep tied to the mountain would choose to haunt it evermore. A king, then, perhaps Thror?

Balin mentally went over all the people who he knew had died on the mountain. There were many, of course, but only one who had unfinished business to attend to on the mountain would remain as a ghost. Thror was looking to be the most likely option until a jolt ran through Balin's body as he realised that there was one other candidate: Bilbo Baggins.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again, everyone!**

 **Thanks again to those who have read this! I didn't think over 300 people would read this, but that's what happened!**

 **I apologize for the heavy feelings in the previous chapter. (I labelled this as 'humour'!) I promise it will get happier.**

 **DISCLAIMER: If the Hobbit was mine, it would be so bad that nobody would ever have published it. Obviously, that is not the case.**

* * *

Kili couldn't sleep. For the few days following Bilbo's death he had slept fitfully, drifting in and out of disturbing nightmares. He had just woken up in a panic, having been reliving Bilbo's death once more. The last moments of Bilbo's life had become a recurring nightmare of his, so real and vivid that all Kili could do was scream and wish that he could wake up before Bilbo could go, but he always stayed.

Each night, it was the same: he would be keeping vigil over Bilbo's sleeping form, keeping occasional tabs on the hobbit's breathing, pulse and temperature. For a while, everything is fine, until Kili glances at Bilbo again and there is far too much red for it to be fine.

He calls for the rest of the dwarves, who come running in, and Oin, Balin and Thorin all try desperately to stop the fountain of blood spurting out from Bilbo's wound. Kili always wonders how so much blood could come from such a little person, and right at that moment, Bilbo's eyes snap open, and he groggily looks around, extremely disoriented.

The hobbit mumbles words, but Kili is too focused on the deep red stain that is steadily growing on Balin's handkerchief…

"Are you okay?" his brother's voice snapped him out of his reverie, and Killi jumped in surprise.

"What?" he asked, then hurriedly added, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

It's too fast an answer, though, and Fili could tell he's not indeed fine. "What's wrong, Kili?" he asked, and looked straight into his brother's hazel eyes.

Kili shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Fili sighed in exasperation. "Kili," he said, grabbing his brother's hands. "You're paler than a ghost, you're shaking like a leaf, and you were tossing and turning in your sleep. What is going on, Kili?"

"Fine!" Kili shouted, then realised that everyone else was still asleep and continued in a hoarse whisper. "Every night, I dream about Bilbo, okay?" he said, and tried not to notice Fili's shocked expression. "Every night when I close my eyes, all I can see is him in pain, and all I can feel is panic, and there's just so much blood!" His voice broke, and he succumbed to his tears, sobbing like a little child.

Fili was stunned; he hadn't expected this. "Kili..." he said, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He almost broke down himself, seeing his brother like this, so dejected, afraid and sad. He so wanted to say something to his brother, to tell him that it would be okay, but he knew that there was nothing he could do or say to make it all okay. All he could do was wrap his arms around his brother's shaking body and cry alongside him, and thus, the two dwarf princes sat together and wept for their burglar.

Bilbo wished he knew why he was a ghost in the first place. When hobbits died they were supposed to go to Yavanna's Garden, so why was he still here? He knew that there were stories of people living on after death as spirits, but only when they had unfinished business, and none of them had ever been hobbits.

Perhaps it was because he had nothing else to do that he remained as a ghost among the dwarves, or because somewhere deep down inside he knew he was needed.

At any rate, Bilbo wished he could stop being a ghost. He hated walking the line between living and dying, where no one can see him and everyone is mourning him. He wanted life or death, not somewhere in between.

If I am dead, he thought glumly. Let me go to Yavanna's Garden. If I am alive, let me live. Don't keep me here like a prisoner among my own-

"...Bilbo?"

Bilbo jumped, and rose to his feet. An old dwarf with a hooked nose and a long white beard stood not three feet away from him. Bilbo hadn't noticed the dwarf approach because of his musings. It didn't surprise him to see Balin by his grave; the dwarves often sat by the grave marker, but what was odd was that Balin wasn't looking at the grave, he was looking straight at Bilbo.

"Y-you...you can see me?" Bilbo asked in a whisper. His heart was all in a flutter and he felt more excited than he had felt since the day the dwarves showed up at his hobbit-hole and whisked him away on this adventure.

Balin replied in an equally soft voice. "Aye, lad. I can see you now. I couldn't before." He paused, and his gaze drifted towards the tiny grave beside them.

"'The burglar who stole the hearts of 13 dwarves.'" Bilbo read off his gravemarker. "Did I really?" He asked, with a hint of sarcasm.

Balin grinned. "Didn't you hear Bofur at your funeral? You're our family." He looked skywards, up towards the top of the Lonely Mountain. He sighed. "I can't believe you had to die over a mountain."

Bilbo shook his head. "It isn't a mountain, Balin, it's your home."

Balin frowned. "No, lad." He said, shaking his head sadly. "Home isn't a mountain; it's us." he pointed to Bilbo and then to the rest of the dwarves seated in a circle around the fire. Turning back to Bilbo, he asked, "So why aren't you in there?" He gestured towards the mound of dirt.

"I'm not sure," Bilbo admitted. "But I shouldn't be here. I've never heard of a ghost hobbit before." He twirled his thumbs around each other and awkwardly looked at his own grave. "Can we…" he didn't know quite why it bothered him, but something about his own burial site made him uneasy. "Can we move somewhere else?"

Balin nodded slowly and gave Bilbo a queer look as they moved into a secluded spot away from the mountain.

Balin sat down on a large rock and faced Bilbo with an uneasy look on his face. "Look here, Bilbo," he said, and scratched his bearded chin. "You have to know that I'm not angry with you or anything like that. I'm just very shocked, that's all. It's not every day your dead friend appears to you as a ghost." he chuckled a bit, but his smile faded when his eyes rested on the hobbit's hand. "What happened to your hand?" He asked.

"I can apparently still get burned," Bilbo replied dryly. "I guess I still have to worry about incineration."

Balin laughed then, a deep, fruity laugh. "Aye, lad, I do think lacerations and evisceration aren't any problem for you anymore."

Bilbo smiled, but a nagging thought at the back of his mind surfaced and he oldnt help but to ask it. "Balin?" he asked, and the dwarf looked surprised at the hobbit's serious tone. "Why do you think I'm still here? Why haven't I gone on to Yavanna's Garden?"

Balin sighed, and looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure, lad," he said, and pondered this for a minute. "Do you truly want to go? Or do you feel obligated to stay?"

Bilbo thought about this. "I don't know," he said after a lengthy pause. "I want to go to Yavanna's Garden, but I know you all need me here." he saw Balin smile tearfully. "But I don't think I had a choice," Bilbo added. "I don't even remember dying. I just woke up and everyone was crying, and I was a ghost."

Balin opened his mouth to reply, but a black haired dwarf wearing a floppy cap with ear flaps hanging by his cheeks appeared beside him.

"Who are you talking to, Balin?" Bofur asked, looking around in confusion.

Looking Bilbo straight in the eyes, he mentally sent the hobbit a message: Should I tell him?

Bilbo didn't hesitate to nod vigorously. Of course, tell him, Bain. He thought, though he knew Balin couldn't possibly know those words were hovering around in his mind. Tell everyone.

Balin flashed Bofur a sad grin. "Bilbo Baggins," he replied, nodding with tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "I'm talking to Bilbo."


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back!**

 **You may not know, but today is July 1st, 2017, the 150th Anniversary of Canada's existence! As a proud Canadian myself, I am extremely happy, and I thought I'd post this today for some celebratory reason! Happy Birthday, Canada! I am proud to call you home! Anyone going to sing the national anthem with me? _O Canada..._**

 ** _Anyhoo..._**

 **Once again, thanks to all who have read this! I don't know if you people know this, but I can see exactly how many people have viewed this story, and where in the world they all come from, and whoa, there are people in** ** _Iceland_** **reading this! (Shout-out to you if you live in Iceland!) I expected people from America, Canada and the UK, but I did not expect people from Malta, Iceland, New Zealand, even Indonesia! Thanks to all you people all over the world!**

 **This is a lighter chapter, and it's mostly just a couple more dwarves discovering Bilbo is a ghost/phantom/spirit/whatever you want to call him.**

 **I _still_ don't have an editor, and while I'm pretty good with grammar and spelling, typing on phones is hard! I apologise for any and all mistakes!**

 **Don't Forget to Be Awesome, friends!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I'm not a literary genius. I didn't live through the early 1900s, and I definitely didn't write 'the Hobbit'.**

* * *

Ori had spent the past hour staring numbly at the Lonely Mountain and wondering what it all was for. Why did Bilbo have to die? And what did he die for? A big, stupid old pile of rock, Ori thought to himself. That's all this mountain is, really. Just a big old rock. He picked up a stone the size of his fist and lobbed it angrily at the mountain where it collided with a clack. He picked up another, and threw it harder, then another, and another.

He didn't know why it made him feel better, but somehow it did. Reaching down, he grabbed another stone and threw it ahead of him, then wished he hadn't because he could see it flying towards a figure he hadn't noticed before.

The person noticed the rock too late as well, and Ori shielded his eyes as the rock collided with the person's features with a loud clack.

Wait…Clack?

Ori looked up, and gasped in surprise and disbelief at who was standing in front of him. "B-Bilbo?"

The hobbit seemed surprised himself, like he hadn't expected Ori to see him. "Yup," he said, bowing dramatically. "Hello, Ori," he said, smiling at the young dwarf's bewildered expression.

"Aren't you- I mean, shouldn't you be...dead?" he asked, turning to look at the grave behind him to make sure it was still there.

"Well," Bilbo looked perplexed, like he didn't really know how to explain it. "I am dead. I am buried in the ground. At the same time, I'm here." he smiled dryly.

Ori blinked. "So...you're a ghost." it wasn't a question, but a statement. "You're a ghost." he repeated, and Bilbo nodded. Ori's confused look slowly morphed into a look of deep interest. "That's...fascinating! I must be the first dwarf ever to speak to a dead person!"

"Well…" Bilbo said in an oscillating tone. "Not exactly."

"Why not?" Ori asked, then realisation dawned on him. "You talked to someone else? Who?"

"Balin," Bilbo admitted. "But you're still the second person!" he said, and Ori looked pleased.

"Well, everybody knows that first is the worst and second is the best!" he said happily, and lunged forward with his arms out to hug Bibo.

"I wouldn't advise that…" Bilbo began, but he spoke too late.

Before Ori could even ask "What?", he suddenly toppled over and met the ground when he should have met Bilbo.

Quickly sitting up, Ori looked at the hobbit quizzically.

"Yeah," Bilbo said with a guilty smile. "Probably should've mentioned that earlier." He sucked in his cheeks for a moment. "See, I can't touch living things, they just go through me." he smiled ruefully. "So, you can't hug me, you'll just fall over."

"Oh," Ori said, then grinned brightly. "I can't wait to tell the others!" he said. "Oh, Bilbo, it's so great to have you back!"

"Balin's gone nuts," Bofur announced that night at dinner.

Most of the company looked up in confusion or concern, but Oin and Bombur both almost choked on their mouthfuls of stew, and Balin himself stood up in his seat.

"What exactly are you talking about?" Thorin asked, motioning for Balin to take his seat once more.

"He was talking to thin air today," Bofur explained to the rest of the company. "And when I asked him about it-"

"It was Bilbo!" Balin cried, standing up once more and glaring daggers at Bofur.

A sad silence fell over the company as the image of Bilbo's limp body flashed in each of their minds.

"That's what he told me," Bofur said after an awkward pause. "But that's not all. Remember that time a few days ago when he told us that twigs and rocks had started to move on their own? Lads, I hate to say it, but I think old Balin's finally cracking."

Balin took a deep breath to control his temper. It didn't show much, but Balin's temper was more peppery than Bombur's spicy beetroot stew. "Listen to me," he said quietly and the murmurs in the company died down. "I don't know what you all can see, or rather, what you all think you can see, but I know what I see and I know what I saw!" he looked straight at Bofur. "And you may not believe me when I tell you that I saw Bilbo Baggins standing by his own grave! You won't believe me if I tell you that I spoke to him, but I did!"

"Oh, come now, Balin!" Gloin said, waving his hands. "Don't tell us that dead hobbits can talk to the living because they can't! How do you expect us to believe you if you have no proof?"

Suddenly, Ori jumped up from his seat. "I saw him too!" he said, projecting his voice as loudly as he could.

"Sit down, Ori!" Nori ordered through gritted teeth, pulling his brother back into his seat.

"There!" Balin said, smiling triumphantly at Ori. "We have another witness!"

"No offense, Balin," Gloin grumbled, "But we aren't going to believe a senile old dwarf and a little one barely out of his tweens."

All if the dwarves began talking at once.

"Don't talk to my brother like that!" Nori yelled.

"Couldn't they be telling the truth?" that was Oin.

"Come on! That's ridiculous!" Gloin argued.

"Perhaps Bilbo really is here." Dori said quietly and Bifur frantically signed in agreement.

"You know, I think I might be constipated again." Bombur said between mouthfuls of stew.

The company went silent and stared at the enormous dwarf.

"Perhaps you shouldn't eat so much," Bofur suggested quietly, watching Bombur shovel heaping spoonfuls into his wide mouth, dripping broth in his beard.

Suddenly, Fili gasped and pointed to a stick on a patch of dirt near the fire where they sat. "The stick!" he yelled, and the others turned to where he was pointing frantically. "It's moving by itself!"

The company rose and Thorin alone stepped closer to the stick.

The twig was quite thick, and it was dancing about peculiarly, seemingly drawing in the dirt all on its own. As he tilted his head to get a better look, he realised it wasn't drawing. "It's writing!" he said, and looked down at the words forming on the ground.

Bofur, Balin, Fili and Ori had joined him and they all stared at the words together in stunned silence.

After a moment, Balin and Ori laughed, and it seemed to Bofur that another person was laughing, but very quietly and far away, like an echo of a whisper.

"What did we tell you?" Balin laughed, and motioned to the words now fully scrawled in the dirt. "I say, Bilbo, that's using your head."

Thorin looked down to the space just in front of his feet and his whole body went numb as he read the words the disembodied stick had scribbled:

I AM BILBO BAGGINS.


	5. Chapter 5

**Gaah! Sorry for the late update! I'd like to say that life got in the way, and in a way it did, but I still had plenty of time to work on this!**

 **I always feel like I should thank everyone who's read this story (1528 people! I never imagined that many!). Thanks you guys, you people motivate me to write more.**

 **This chapter isn't the best. It's also pretty short; I don't really like it that much, but eh, it's here.**

 **Welp, enjoy!**

 **(By the way, my page breaks are not cooperating today, so in place of page breaks, I'll put in a line of random text. You'll know it's random, trust me. It's not part of the story, it's just to break the page. So, when you see something like 'CHICKAPLOW' over and over again, it's a page break. Just letting you know.)**

 **CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW**

Time slowed for Bofur as he watched the letters take form. A vague outline of a short figure was starting to take shape too, but he had to squint to see it. From what he could tell, a very small person was stopping down to write the letters with the branch.

It can't be. He thought, and saw the form grow stronger, more recognisable. The colours started to wash over the figure too, starting from the dusty bottom then all the way up to the golden-brown top. As the figure drew the last squiggle of an 's', Bofur could see him perfectly.

"Bilbo," he breathed.

The hobbit looked up and smiled. He looked just as he had when he was alive, maintained the same colour and life, but Bofur could see through him like Bilbo was nothing but a painted window. He wasn't affected in the least by wind and looked almost frozen in time as he stood before Bofur, grinning.

"Hello, Bofur," Bilbo said, then took a step back. "Don't try to hug me, you'll fall over."

Bofur visibly blanched. "You-you're….dead?" he asked, uncertainty tugging at his voice.

Bilbo nodded, and even with the movement his curls stayed in their places. "Yup. I am dead." He said and rocked back and forth on his feet a little awkwardly.

Balin patted Bofur on the back. "I told you it was him."

Bofur turned to face him. "Balin," he said. "I owe you an apology."

Balin waved his hands. "No, lad, it's fine. I would have thought I'd gone mad too if I were you."

During this exchange, Fili had been confused, looking around and trying to spot Bilbo. Suddenly, he gasped. "Mister Boggins!" he cried, staring in awe at the translucent figure in front of him.

Bilbo bowed low to the ground. "At your service," he said, and Fili laughed.

Thorin stared at the words scrawled in the dirt, a wave pounding in his ears. There was no doubt about it now: Bilbo was clearly standing right in front of him. Balin, Ori, Bofur and Kili could all see him, and some of the others showed signs of being able to see the hobbit. But when Thorin looked up to the spot where Bilbo Baggins should've been standing, Thorin couldn't see the hobbit's hairy feet or quirky smirk. The king's heart sank.

Bilbo looked into Thorin's face. "Thorin…" he said softly, the other dwarves too happy to notice anything wrong. "You can't see me, can you?"

Thorin didn't react and Bilbo took that as an answer.

Kili laughed. "Let's see Smaug beat you now, Mister Boggins!" he cried, and the others chuckled contentedly.

"Well," Dori exclaimed. "The Company is whole once more." he ran over to the campfire and snatched up his dirty water cup. "I propose a toast," he cried.

"Where did the term 'toast' come from?" Bombur interjected mellowly. "Should we all be raising slices of bread?"

The Company eyed him critically, their wooden mugs lifted high. "I think you're misunderstanding something, Bombur." Dori said, but Bombur went on.

"How do you drink toast?" he raised up a slice of half eaten bread into the air. "If I could liquify toast and drink it, I'd say 'To the end of forever!'" he hollered, tossing the slice of bread away.

The dwarves were silent.

Bombur looked down. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll go get my mug."

"That was actually a pretty nice toast," Bilbo commented, which made Bombur blush beet red.

"Well," Dori said, laughing silently at Bombur. "My toast was going to be something along the lines of 'To Bilbo Baggins,' but I suppose Bombur's was a bit more entertaining."

The dwarves laughed.

 **CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW CHICKAPLOW**

Their camp was full of happiness that evening, every dwarf wore a smile on his face as jokes and songs were told and sang long into the night. Everybody was cheerful and everyone could see their ghostly friend.

Everyone except Thorin Oakenshield.

Bilbo Baggins watched the King Under the Mountain turn dejectedly away from the merry gathering, his face emotionless as ever as he lay down in his sleeping bag and turned away from Bilbo's view.

The hobbit had returned to the Company.

 **(P.S. Yes, I am a _Hamilton_ fan. 'Congratulations' for figuring it out. You really 'Blew us all away.' 'Awesome, Wow!')**

 **(I'll stop now.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Uhh, hi? So sorry, it's been like, months! I've been pretty busy with school and work, but I finally pulled through and finished this chapter! It's really not my best work, and I'm sorry. I'll try to update more frequently; I want to finish this story soon so I can get doing other things without getting guilty.**

 **DISCLAIMER** **: I DO NOT OWN THE HOBBIT**

Bombur was fat, there was no doubt about that, but not excessively fat. There were fatter dwarves, even Balin had been looking a little porky lately.

Just because I weigh over 250 pounds doesn't make me the fattest dwarf in Middle Earth. He thought grouchily, kicking a stone along the path. Fili and Kili had joked about his weight earlier, saying, "If Bombur was to face Smaug, the dragon'd think he was looking in a mirror!"

The whole company had laughed, even Bifur and Bofur, who should have defended him and his gut from the others if they were half decent family members.

The truth of the matter was, Bombur was tired of being fat. Make no mistake, he loved food, cooking food, eating food, eating more food, but he was just getting so sick of being chastised about his weight.

Durin's Day had passed already, and the New Year had started, but he hadn't made any resolution.

It isn't too late to make one, he thought to himself, smiling a bit as he imagined a skinny him, tall, thin and fit, making even Kili green with envy. Yes, he mused. I can do it.

"Hey, Bombur!" the hobbit called, skipping up to where he was sitting under a tree and plopping down next to him. "What are you up to?"

Bombur looked skyward stoically. "Those clouds are looking particularly upwards right now."

Bilbo grinned. "I meant what's going on? You seem a bit….I dunno, glum."

The dwarf waved his hands, watching as Thorin scraped dried mud from the bottom of his boot with a knife. "It's nothing,"

"I want to know," the halfling replied.

Bombur glanced at Bilbo. "Do you think I'm fat?" he asked.

Bilbo blinked, and laughed. "Honestly, is that what's bothering you?"

"You think it's funny?"

"Sort of," Bilbo admitted. "It's mean, it's just, for hobbits, being fat is a good thing. Every hobbit wants to be fat, it means you're wealthy enough to afford good food. I'd always assumed it was the same with dwarves."

Bombur shook his head. "For dwarves," he said. "Being fat means you're weak and lazy. It means you aren't a strong warrior, it means you're…." he paused, wondering how to say what he meant. "...Unhealthy," he decided.

Bilbo scoffed. "You'd rather be sickeningly thin?"

"...No, but…"

"You dwarves have it all wrong. Being fat isn't bad, it's wonderful! Being fat means that you have food, and if you have lots of food, you have lots of money to buy that food! Being fat is a sign of wealth and prosperity!"

"It's also a sign of lack of control," Bombur pointed out.

Bilbo sighed, smiling faintly. Bombur couldn't help thinking that Bilbo's expression would make a good painting, though, perhaps of a woman, rather than a man. Yes, he thought. A woman with long, dark curls and a faint, impish grin. That would make a fine portrait. He pictured the woman in his mind. Yes, her name would be Lucy, no...Lisa. Yes, Lisa, a fine name for such a beautiful lady…

Bilbo looked expectantly at Bombur. "Bombur, did you hear any of that?"

Bombur blinked and nodded. "Yes," he said. "But just in case, say it all over again."

Meanwhile, Thorin stood to the side, watching Bombur talk to the empty space beside him. The dark-haired dwarf looked down sadly; he couldn't see Bilbo. Everybody else in the company could, so why couldn't he?

Bofur had shared his own theory on the matter. "We all could see Bilbo when we believed that he could be there," he had said, patting Thorin's arm reassuringly. "Perhaps you just haven't really believed just yet."

Balin too had given his reassurance. "I'm sure you'll see Bilbo soon."

Even the ghost hobbit himself had scrawled the words, 'SEE YOU SOON, FROM BILBO' in the dirt beside the campfire. Thorin had watched as the letters formed, and smiled wryly in the general direction of the writer, but said nothing. Why talk to something you couldn't see?

Besides, he had other things to worry about. Smaug was still in the mountain, with the Arkenstone, and they still needed to get that old Worm out somehow.

"What are you thinking about?"

Thorin turned. "Nori," he said, and the thief nodded. "Nothing really, just how to get the gold out now."

Nori hummed. "Well, why can't Bilbo just go in again? Why can't our Plan A be our Plan B?"

Thorin stared at him. "Because Plan A killed our hobbit."

"Yes, but he's still here, and what harm can Old Smaug do to him now?"

"Balin said he can be burned,"

"Yes, but he'll be careful."

"DON'T YOU SEE?" Thorin boomed, and Nori stepped back. Thorin sighed and dropped his voice down to a low whisper. "Bilbo's dead. We buried him. He can never go back home because of us. Because of me."

"It's because of that dragon, Thorin. All the more reason for him to go in there and avenge himself!"

Thorin glared at him and shook his head. "I won't let him get hurt again." he said. "I let him go once, and now look what's happened! I won't risk his safety for my own gain again."

As Nori tried to reason with him, Bilbo watched from a distance, sitting on a rock and kicking at the ground. He wanted to say something to Thorin to make it better. He wanted to go up and give the dwarf king a hug, to tell him it was all right, that it wasn't his fault.

But Thorin couldn't see him, nor could he hear him.

Bilbo sighed. He hated watching helplessly while Thorin blamed himself for everything that had happened. He needed to take action, to do something, not just for his sake, but for Thorin too.

What can I do to make him see me? He wondered, staring out over the Long Lake, watching birds fly overhead.

He jumped up. He had it. He had an idea, it would just take a lot of preparation. Bilbo smiled. This would be it, he thought. Thorin won't be miserable anymore.


End file.
